


Love Letter

by minervamoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Lockdown Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, phone sex but with a letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervamoon/pseuds/minervamoon
Summary: I daresay I bungled our last conversation.  I ask your forgiveness.  Even after all this time, there seems to still be things I can not vocalize.  Things I most dearly want to say to you, but I find my voice stolen when you are here.  Nor can I send them through the wires of the telephone.  It simply isn’t in me to say these words.  So I shall endeavor to write them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 113





	Love Letter

Crowley was woken by something jabbing him in the cheek. He grumbled and swatted it away sleepily, his hand brushing something that crinkled. Paper. There was a small part of Crowley’s brain that had a Pavlovian response to paper through centuries of exposure to the substance in association with a certain bastard of an angel. His eyes opened and he took hold of the paper.

It was cream-colored and felt thick, folded in a way that brought a pang of nostalgia to Crowley. Then there was the handwriting. That handwriting had Crowley sitting up and taking the letter in both hands.

Aziraphale’s handwriting. Aziraphale had written him a letter? And miracled it into his bed? A slow smile curled Crowley’s lips. Maybe the angel was getting bored after all. Or he’d run out of sugar. That made his smile falter. If this was some weird request to pop down to the market for him…

Crowley flipped the letter over and stared at the seal. A real wax seal, in green. The imprint of a single feather. Something scratched at the back of Crowley’s mind about the seal, something about the color, but it eluded him. Crowley snapped his fingers and the seal let go of the bottom half of the letter. It was silly, but he didn’t want to damage it either. He so rarely got letters from Aziraphale anymore.

_My Dearest Crowley,_

_I daresay I bungled our last conversation. I ask your forgiveness. Even after all this time, there seems to still be things I can not vocalize. Things I most dearly want to say to you, but I find my voice stolen when you are here. Nor can I send them through the wires of the telephone. It simply isn’t in me to say these words. So I shall endeavor to write them._

_I love you most ardently. I do hope you are aware of that. I have done all that is in my power to make you aware, sparing my inability to say those simple words in your presence._

Crowley reread those words over and over, sure he wasn’t reading them correctly. Aziraphale did funny things with his y’s. But no, the words were there in the angel’s elegant hand. He loved him. Crowley felt his face break into a wide grin. He nearly dropped the letter and jumped out of bed then, but there were more, several more pages in fact. Curiosity got the better of him, as it tended to do.

_I love you with all of my essence._

There it was again!

_I should have accepted your offer to be my companion through this ordeal. I should have accepted so many of your offers. I don’t know why I didn’t, except that I am a coward. Don’t try to argue it, I know that you are. The only time I am brave is when I have you beside me. You complete me in a way I did not want to acknowledge for so very long. Because of that, I ask you to lend me your strength so I can be brave now._

_Please, my dearest love, allow me to love you. Allow me to hold you someday soon. Allow me to press my lips to yours, touch your lovely face, feel the pulse of your heart at your throat._

“Yes!” said Crowley to the empty room. “Goddammit, angel. Of course!”

_I wish more than anything to kiss you, to put my arms around you and feel you do the same. I have thought about that moment far too often, or not often enough. I always feel too full and also too starved of you. I want to know what that heartbeat tastes like under my tongue._

“Ngk!” croaked Crowley around his suddenly dry throat.

_I want to run my hands down your lean body, feel every muscle, each and every one quiver under my touch. Oh, how warm your skin must be. I would follow my hands with my mouth, lay kisses across the expanse of you. I would blaspheme you as the god of my heart, for that is who you are. I would beg for the honor to make love to you. I am begging now with these words I write._

Crowley’s heart stopped beating, or was beating so fast he couldn’t feel it anymore. Aziraphale wanted to-he _wrote it down_!

_Would you allow me to lave my unworthy tongue over your papilla? Are they sensitive? Or would you have mamilla? Either is a treasure far beyond my imagining. However you would present yourself to me would be a gift I am undeserving to receive. In truth though, I think more often of your male configuration, it is the one I am most familiar with. And I do think of it, of you, so very, very often when I am alone, as I am now. My own corporation is aching at the thought of you spread beneath me, accepting my adoration. Another truth for your eyes only, more than once I have had to banish my effort to hide my shame from you. You fill me with desire, make me heady with lust. I lied to myself and said it was your demonic nature, your innate temptation, but I’ve known that was a lie longer than there has been and England. I want you, in every base, carnal way you will allow me to have you._

“Fuck!” Crowley felt his own effort rising, filling. It was tenting his silk pajamas. And there were still more pages to go. Had Aziraphale written… _all_ of it down?

_I am at your stomach now. You are so lean, so different from my own corporation. I would like very much to spend eons mapping the plains and valleys of you. What do your sounds of pleasure sound like, my love? I am dying to hear them, know them, commit them to memory. Does the pitch change between flicking my tongue into your navel and pressing my teeth into your inner thigh. Would you even like either of those things? I want so desperately to know._

_You are male in this scenario I am writing to you, I hope you do not mind. Your effort is erect. I take the hot, hard length of you in my hand. I think I will weep if you ever do grant me that privilege. There is liquid beading at your meatus. I simply must have a taste._

Crowley was completely gone now. He didn’t remember shoving his pajama bottoms down his skinny hips. All he knew is he had Aziraphale’s letter in one hand, his cock in the other. There was indeed precome welling up at the slit. He rubbed his thumb over it, smearing it and letting it help slick the way for his hand to work.

_You taste decadent, my dear. I have no doubt of that at all. How could you not? You are exactly all I could ever want for, all I have ever wanted for._

_Your effort is heavy on my tongue as I take you deeper into my mouth. I want you as deep as you can go. I want to hear the sounds you would make, know they are because I am giving you pleasure, because I am loving you. How long would it take before I would taste your semen, before I would swallow down your spend? Would you tangle your hands in my hair as you did? Would you pull it? I think I would very much like it if you did._

Crowley was coming. It was embarrassingly fast and shockingly intense. His back arched and he crumpled the letter in his free hand as he shot come over his fist and stomach.

_There are so many other ways I want to show my love for you, my dearest Crowley. If you would like to know them, if I have not offended you with my sordid desires for you, please ignore my earlier cowardly words and come to the bookshop. Or allow me to come to you. You have to but say it, my love, and I am yours._

_From the beginning until always,_

_Yours,  
Aziraphale_

A snap had Crowley clean of his spunk. Then he was throwing himself out of bed, yanking up his pajamas as he did. He raised his hand to dress, then grinned and snapped again.

Crowley appeared outside the bookshop, bed rumpled and barefoot, still in his black, silk pajamas as he knocked on Aziraphale’s door.

Aziraphale opened the door, took in the state of Crowley, and the letter still clutched in his hand and flushed brightly. “I-I see you’ve rea-”

Crowley catapulted himself at the angel, wrapping his long limbs around the softness of him. The first kiss was more a smashing of faces against one another.

The ones that followed were all Aziraphale had promised and more.


End file.
